


Sure

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Leading [2]
Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Kissing, Crushes, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, No Plot/Plotless, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Something is wrong with Abe. Mihashi doesn’t know what, can’t ask, would apologize if he knew what to apologize for, but he doesn’t." Abe is fretting and Mihashi is panicking. Miscommunication ensues and eventually resolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sure

Something’s wrong with Abe.

Mihashi doesn’t know what, exactly. The other boy finally rejoined practice two days ago, and he’s a little unsteady on his feet, a little slower to move and a little more tentative to lower himself into a crouch before he will give Mihashi signals, but he’s moving better than Coach seemed to expect, and he doesn’t look to be in pain when he moves, just careful. Mihashi’s been doing his best to do what Abe says, to shake off signals every now and then ‘just to practice,’ Abe says, sounding tense and strained but not yelling. ‘Just so you get used to it.’ It still terrifies Mihashi every time he does, sends a tingle of nervous adrenaline crackling all down his spine, but Abe just nods and gives him a different sign, and it’s what Abe  _told_  him to do, what Abe  _wants_  him to do. And Mihashi likes it, when his panic subsides enough for him to breathe normally, he likes the give-and-take of the interaction and the fact that Abe will keep giving him signals. It feels like they’re talking, communicating at a distance and without the stutter of words in Mihashi’s mouth to confuse things.

But something is wrong with Abe. Maybe Mihashi is shaking his head too much, or maybe he should be doing it more. Maybe Abe doesn’t like listening to him, maybe Abe is tired of working around Mihashi’s slow pitches and his unpredictable fastball, still out of control even after months of practice. Mihashi doesn’t know, can’t ask, would apologize if he knew what to apologize for, but he doesn’t, and by the time Coach lets them go on the second day Mihashi’s skin is crawling with expectant stress even before Abe says “Mihashi. Stay behind for a minute.”

Hanai looks back, mutters something under his breath about ordering the pitcher around, but Mihashi doesn’t mind. Abe  _wants_  him, even if it’s just to chastise him for something, so he comes back and hovers just at Abe’s elbow while the other boy gets to his feet with the careful deliberation he has used ever since his fall. Abe doesn’t look at him; the other boy is looking at his hands, turning them over as if he’s looking for something, and Mihashi is only just starting to recognize the motion as nervousness when he speaks.

“Mihashi.”

Mihashi snaps to attention, eyes locked on Abe’s face. “Y--yes, Abe-kun!”

Abe looks at him sideways without turning his head. His eyes are very dark, shadowed in the failing sunlight, and there’s a softness at the corners that Mihashi can’t quite identify. “I think --”

He pauses, takes a breath, blinks and looks back down at his hands, and Mihashi’s scrambling recognition offers up  _sadness_  for the look in his eyes just before he keeps talking.

“I think you should start pitching to Izumi.”

There’s a moment in which the whole world goes still. The cicadas on the trees, the faint sound of the rest of the team collecting bicycles in the distance, the rustle of the wind -- everything crashes to a halt, and for a breath Mihashi doesn’t feel anything at all but white numbness. It is a relief, if a short-lived one; then the numb fades off into ice, spreading a chill of panic through his blood, and he’s speaking, stumbling over his tongue but desperate,  _frantic_  to fix whatever is wrong.

“No, no Abe-kun, I’m -- I’m sorry, whatever I did, I’ll listen to you, I’ll do whatever you want.” Mihashi’s shaking his head, desperate negation of the words from the one person he can’t possibly refuse, because if Abe really wants this he can’t say no, he doesn’t know  _how_  to say no. “P--please, I’m sorry, I’ll take all your signals, you’re the b--best catcher, Abe-kun.” His hands are floating up like gravity isn’t affecting them anymore, reaching out to flutter an inch above Abe’s wrists but not quite touching, Mihashi can’t quite make himself touch the other boy’s skin. “Sorry,  _sorry_  sorry.” He’s babbling, now, frantic and apologizing for anything, everything, for being who he is and how he all and for all the flaws that make him less than perfect, that make him not good enough.

“Mihashi,” Abe says, and when that doesn’t stop the flood of apology from the other’s mouth, “ _Mihashi_.” His hand comes up quicker than Mihashi can pull back, his fingers curl in against the other’s wrist, and his hands are so cold Mihashi’s words die in his throat. There’s a moment of strained silence -- Mihashi has stopped talking but now his eyes are going damp with the apology he’s not voicing -- before Abe hisses and looks away from Mihashi’s face.

“It’s nothing you did,” he mutters, so softly Mihashi can barely hear him. The world is still silent, still frozen, going chill in spite of the lingering summer heat in the air. “It’s not your fault, Mihashi.” There’s a smile at the corner of his mouth but it doesn’t touch his eyes at all. “You were perfect.”

“B--but why?” Mihashi manages. Abe’s fingers are icy on his skin, by rights his touch should be chilling Mihashi’s wrist but it’s the opposite; his touch is turning Mihashi hot, flushing warmth up under his skin even though none of it is passing over into the other boy’s hand.

Abe straightens his shoulders, squares himself so he looks sturdy and immoveable and strong like Mihashi has never been and can never be without him. Then he looks down at his fingers around Mihashi’s wrist like he’s never seen them before, like he moved without any conscious thought, and when he drops his hold Mihashi’s stomach and hand drop too.

“It’s not fair,” he says, still softly. “To you.” His eyes come up from Mihashi’s chilling wrist, fix on the other boy’s eyes, and Mihashi would look away from the intensity in Abe’s face if he felt like he could breathe on his own.

“Mihashi.” His hand comes up, hovers for a moment; then he folds his arms in front of himself, hunching in over his arms like he’s trying to lock them in place against his chest. “I like you.”

He says it like it’s some kind of grand confession, and it’s true that Mihashi’s skin flickers hot with pleasure -- he’s not used to being  _liked_ , he’s still getting used to acknowledgment, much less affection -- but then he stops talking, and that doesn’t make any sense, does he somehow think Mihashi  _doesn’t_  like him? Mihashi blinks, blurts, “I like Abe-kun too!” and is reaching out to touch him, offering what minimal comfort his own body heat can have for the other boy’s shocking chill.

But Abe flinches back, as if Mihashi’s going to hurt him somehow, and Mihashi freezes in horror. There’s a moment when Abe is staring at his outstretched hand, neither of them taking a breath; then Abe looks up, and meets Mihashi’s eyes, and there’s a wave of something over his face that looks a little like pain and a little like sadness.

“No, Mihashi,” he says, and his voice is low and steady and utterly miserable. He sounds defeated. “I  _like_  you.” He takes a breath and keeps talking, and he’s still looking at Mihashi’s eyes and Mihashi’s lungs have stopped working entirely. “Really, really like you. I have for a while, and I’ve been trying to get over it but --” He stalls, takes a breath, keeps talking with only a little strain under his words. “But I want to touch you all the  _time_ , I want to kiss you and have you and --” He cuts himself off sharply and flushes dark all across his cheeks. It’s clear even in the dim light as sunset fades into night. “Well. Do you understand?”

It’s habit, that phrase, he says it easily and without thought, but the ritual of the question finally breaks through Mihashi’s shattered instincts and pulls a response from him before he has time to stutter.

“Yes. I understand.” There’s something in his throat, tightness but not like tears, he doesn’t recognize what the sensation is but his mouth is turning on its own, curving into a smile and Abe still looks so  _sad_ , there’s no reason for him to look like that. “But. I -- I like Abe-kun, too.”

Abe sighs, the sound weighed down with disappointment; it crushes Mihashi’s bubbling joy for a moment, that sound, the motion of the other boy’s head as he turns to look out over the empty field. “You don’t understand.”

“I do!” Mihashi steps forward, desperate to take the shadow off Abe’s face; his fingers land on Abe’s wrist, the stalled movement finally completing, and Abe shudders and turns his head back towards Mihashi just as the other boy leans in to kiss his cheek. Mihashi’s moving too fast to stop himself, too fast for his panic to override, and he just has time to see Abe’s eyes widen in surprise before their mouths come together.

There’s a moment when Mihashi stops breathing entirely. Abe’s mouth is just open around the words he was about to say but he’s not saying them, his mouth is still under Mihashi’s lips, and Mihashi’s pretty sure they should be doing something else, moving or pressing or something, but all he can do is stare blindly at the too-close line of the other boy’s hair and feel the faint pressure of Abe’s lips against his. Then he realizes he has to breathe, that he’s  _kissing_  Abe, and goes stumbling backwards and gasping for air in preparation for an apology or an explanation or something.

Fingers close on his wrist, warm against the line of his skin, and Abe holds him still, steps forward so he’s so close Mihashi can see the feathery edge of his eyelashes even in the darkening light.

“Mihashi,” Abe says. His voice is still low but it’s not disappointed anymore, it’s shaking through his throat and the fingers on Mihashi’s wrist and he’s holding tight, as tight as he did during their last game. “Mihashi,  _are you sure_?”

He sounds so serious, almost angry, that Mihashi starts to flinch back instinctively, but Abe doesn’t let his hold go, pulls him back before he can go anywhere.

“I’m not angry,” he says, and he doesn’t actually sound angry, he’s not yelling; there’s just a weird low rumble under his voice, and his eyes are dark and Mihashi can’t look away and he can’t blink. “I’m not angry, Mihashi, just tell me if you’re  _sure_  you want this.”

Mihashi nods, jerky and fast, but Abe just hisses and says, “ _Tell_  me.” Mihashi shivers at the burn in the words, at how  _close_  Abe is, at the shiver of sensation over his mouth and the heat of the fingers on his skin, and then he swallows and chokes and tries to speak.

“I -- I --” Abe is staring at him, Abe’s not blinking and he’s not letting go and he’s  _so_  close, Mihashi can’t think when he’s this close. “I -- I want --”

Abe bites his lip, exhales so hard Mihashi can  _feel_  the impatience on his skin, and panic closes his throat and forces the words out of his mouth at the same time so they come out high and strangled. “I want Abe-kun!”

It’s not what he meant to say -- he wanted to repeat back what Abe said, feel how the almost-poetry feels on his tongue -- but Abe lets his lip go and shudders on his inhale, and when he leans in Mihashi is shocked to find he  _can_ , in fact, get closer.

“Mihashi,” he breathes, he’s letting Mihashi’s wrist go but his fingers are coming up against the back of the other boy’s neck instead. Mihashi trembles like he’s being shocked but doesn’t pull away, doesn’t blink and doesn’t breathe. Abe’s leaning in closer, he’s going out of focus, and Mihashi is just starting to echo him when the other boy pulls back, looking raw and frustrated.

“I want to kiss you,” he says aloud, and Mihashi whines in incoherent agreement. “Tell me if you don’t --” he starts; then he leans back, grimaces and shuts his eyes and breathes out in a deliberately slow exhale. “You won’t tell me to stop,” he says, more to himself than to Mihashi, but he’s still not moving his hand and Mihashi’s bones are starting to go liquid and shaky.

Abe opens his eyes. It’s almost entirely dark now, just the faintest hint of illumination still in the sky, and in the dark his eyes are black and deep and endless. “Tell me it’s okay,” he says, and he sounds desperate and pleading and Mihashi is opening his mouth to say  _yes_ , it’s okay, but Abe’s still talking. “You  _have_  to tell me if it’s not,  _please_  Mihashi, this one time I  _need_  you to tell me.”

He’s opening his mouth to keep talking, his words are coming faster as he talks, and Mihashi reaches up to grab at the back of Abe’s neck to get him to stop talking. It works -- Abe goes totally silent in an instant, and that’s all Mihashi needs, for once his mouth obeys his brain, they sync together and he says, perfectly clearly: “It’s okay,  _please_  kiss me.”

Even in the dark, Mihashi can see Abe’s eyes go soft, can see the other boy’s gaze drop from his eyes to his mouth. He can feel the sigh of relief that is almost a sob against his mouth, and then Abe comes forward over the inch of space, and kisses him, and Mihashi closes his eyes and everything else stops mattering.


End file.
